Snow & Separation
by Jelach
Summary: Lady Catherine's timing is appalling, and Fitzwilliam Darcy is loathe to be separated from his growing family - in the dead of winter no less! Rebuilding of frozen bridges and refreezing of carriages ensues.
1. Departure

She could hear the pitter patter of small feet breaking her consciousness before she heard the soft call of "mama" as her fourteen month old son made his wobbly way to their bedchambers, nursemaid in tow. Bennet George Darcy was heartbreakingly charming and had stolen the hearts of the whole of Pemberley. His mother and father, awoken by his morning routine, shared a brief smile before finding their bedclothes and greeting him enthusiastically at the threshold.

Elizabeth Darcy waddled in a manner not dissimilar to the infant, heavy as she was with their second child, and began to converse small nothings with little George. His countenance shone with pleasure at the attention his mother was bestowing upon him.

"Goodness," she breathed, "you are getting to be a big strong boy aren't you." Her husband, who had been watching his family with a gentle fondness, rescued his wife and took his son into his rather stronger arms. Tickling the infant, Mr Darcy gestured for his wife to take her toilette whilst he attended their son. George chuckled his delight at his Papa's silliness and squirmed away from his long fingers.

He relished these small familiar interludes before he had to become a shutaway in his office for the day, or worse still, the longer interludes when he had to be away from Pemberley. George altered considerably in the weeks that he spent away managing their estates and it was insupportable being from both his ancestral home and his darling wife and son.

It was a matter of no small consternation that he had to leave them both, in the dead of winter no less, to go to his cousin in her time of need.

Lady Catherine de Bourgh was gravely ill and Anne had written to him express in order to request her cousins' presence. Richard was serving in Salamanca and Darcy couldn't in good conscience leave Anne to the mercy of her mother and Mr Collins. He was not a monster. Though it pained him to leave his family at such a time, he knew that it was the correct thing to do. It was what his mother would have wanted.

He had noticed Elizabeth's momentary crestfallen look when he told her of his impending departure, but apart from the initial disappointment, she had managed admirably to put on a brave facade. She had encouraged his departure, attempting as ever to restore the familial harmony that his aunt had so callously destroyed when she condemned his choice of bride so openly and viciously. Nervous as she was about the prospect of birthing their second child in the near future, she pitied poor Anne's predicament and knew that her husband needed to depart. She, at least, had their darling George.

He had arranged for Georgiana to arrive at Pemberley for the Christmas season early, to coincide with his leaving, so that his wife would be well looked after in his absence. He regretted that he could not also make the most of this time with Georgiana, for she had been so long in Town for the masters, but resolved that he would at least be back for Christmas to finally relax with them all, and the newest addition to his family. His mien softened to consider his future happiness, and then clouded when he considered the trials he had to undertake before returning to such felicity.

He sighed and returned his attention to his son, who was still babbling happily in his father's arms.

* * *

All too soon, he was holding his family in a crushing embrace on the steps of Pemberley, dreading the next two weeks of comparable solitude.

"Farewell, my love," Elizabeth breathed as he placed a lingering kiss on her hairline. "Would that I could accompany you. If only my ever-expanding middle had begun to grow two months earlier," she chuckled, "or if only your aunt had been more considerate with her timing." Her eyes were sparkling with mirth and Mr Darcy drunk it all in, trying to remember every detail of her darling face. He pressed a hand to his waistcoat pocket where next to his father's pocket watch sat a miniature that he had commissioned of his wife shortly after they wed for occasions such as these.

"It is indeed my fault for not being more expedient in settling your condition, darling Lizzy," he smiled at her, "and therefore I must suffer the consequences of my tardiness. My most sincere apologies m'aam."

"Your apology will be accepted upon one condition, sir," she retorted in a haughty tone.

"Oh?" He muttered, inhaling her lavender scent.

"Return to me with utmost haste and with the exact same amount of Fitzwilliam Darcy that you left with." He heard her worry underneath the jest and squeezed her waist in acknowledgement.

"On my word," he replied.

George took that quiet, tender moment to reassert his presence, and his father bent down to caress his son in one hand and the unborn babe in the other.

"Farewell my loves," he sighed.

An air of melancholy seemed to settle upon his countenance as he turned from her. Squaring his shoulders, he climbed into the carriage and settled into the plush velvet seat for the long journey to Rosings Park. As the frosty miles began to pass behind him, his trepidation rose. He resented being away from his wife and returned to his reserved nature in preparation for his dealings with his aunt. They had not spoken since he had supposedly spurned his uninterested cousin and he was more anxious about seeing her than he cared to admit.

Elizabeth Darcy cradled Bennet George and hummed a soft tune under her breath, desperately trying to remain rational and calm, and praying that the babe's timing would be more careful than theirs. As if sensing her sadness and worry, George snuggled further into her arms. His solid weight brought his mother from her reverie and, with a kiss on his forehead, she returned inside.


	2. Illness

As the carriage pulled into the stately drive at Rosings, Darcy sent a quick utterance skywards to give him the strength that he would need to survive this ordeal. The carriage swayed slightly as he woodenly stepped down onto the crunching gravel beneath him. He was picking at an imaginary smear on his greatcoat in his nervousness as he walked to the great oak entrance.

Soon enough he was being announced by a footman to Anne, who was having a break from her mother's demanding presence to take tea in the green parlour. He was loathe to interrupt her peaceful silence but was relieved when a soft smile graced her countenance. He noticed that she looked well, if a little tired, and upon greeting her he conveyed his concern that she was not sleeping enough.

"Do not worry about that, my dear cousin," she retorted, with an unfamiliar glint in her soft blue eyes. He was reminded of his lovely wife and smiled subconsciously. "For you are now here to rescue me from such a cruel fate." Darcy was astonished when she chuckled, and he promised himself that they would extend her an invitation to Pemberley in the near future. He thought idly that she would benefit from some time out of her mother's shadow, and in the presence of his charming wife.

"I am afraid that I am no knight, and it would appear that we are lacking the necessary rounded table for any other brave knave to take my place," he returned jokingly. "Forgive me," he stated in a more serious tone, "but how is your mother?"

"As well as one can expect, for one with such _exaggerated_ sensibilities and with only a sickly daughter to attend her." Darcy picked up on her clipped tone and her barely concealed eye-roll, and realised that his suspicions had been correct.

"She is not dying." It was a frustrated statement. His brow furrowed.

"I fear she is only doing such a thing in her mind," Anne said apologetically. "Only she has been making such a fuss that one would think that death were knocking on the doors and all of the windows. I do not know what to do in order to contain her. She is making my life even more difficult than is usually her wont and I do not favour myself upon the gallows for her ' _accidental_ ' demise; either that or my eventual commitment to Bedlam."

"Well I am happy for your sake that it is not so grave as it appeared, though I would very much like to see her to assess the situation before deciding upon the best course of action." This was enunciated in a clipped tone as Fitzwilliam Darcy contemplated all that he had sacrificed to come to Kent, for a seemingly fictitious disease that plagued his most ridiculous relation.

"She is in her chambers, I shall dispatch Johnson to show you to her," she acquiesced, calling the appropriate man and moving to find a book to occupy her whilst her cousin took the gauntlet and went in search of her mother.

* * *

The air was stagnant and stifling in the gaudy chambers when he crossed the threshold into his aunt's rooms. Looking around, the deep pink furnishings became more and more ostentatious as one neared his aunt's vast bed. Looking upon her from the doorway, she did indeed seem very small surrounded by so many lurid pillows and throws. He breathed in a thick lungful of the stale air to brace himself before squaring his shoulders and crossing the floor.

"Thank goodness, you have come after all," she began in a voice that curiously grew less hoarse as she continued speaking, as if she were mended by his very presence. "Anne was so worried that you would not come, what with your wife being so _inconveniently_ occupied, but I knew that you would not besmirch your good name any further, and that you would come to our aid."

He did not know quite how to respond to such a declaration, and elected to remain silent as his nails dug into his palms with the force of his angry clenching. It would not help Anne to throw an angry retort and rile her, and Elizabeth had specifically entreated him to remain civil. He struggled with the insinuation that it was Lizzy's fault that she was bringing another wonderful child into the world, but bit his tongue against the bile that was rising. He thought of his wife's calming smile and returned his attention to his aunt, who was still babbling in a manner not dissimilar to her beloved parson.

"- and I find myself most revived by my beloved nephew _finally_ coming to his senses and to his aunt's side." He rolled his eyes imperceptibly and offered her some herbal remedy that the physician had left by her bedside. He was not ready to address her rudeness in shunning Mrs Darcy for so long, but he found that he could distract her and avoid the subject and be perfectly polite. He was determined to obey Elizabeth's requests.

"One can not take to many restoratives, dear nephew. Even though I am feeling much better, I think I shall take a brandy over that rotten ginger root syrup. It does taste frightfully bitter, you see. Yes I think a brandy would do wonders for my poor head." He felt like strangling her for separating him from his dear wife in the depth of winter with a babe on the way but, remembering that dear wife, he merely smiled tersely and fetched her the brandy she desired.

It became apparent in the next hour as she spoke and regained her usual vivaciousness that the disease that had befallen her was simply estrangement from her dear nephew. She was seeking his attention after just shy of an eighteen-month of separation and, although unwilling to apologise for her behaviour, seemed to recognise that shunning her wealthy nephew had not been in her best interests. Though he was enraged at her high-handedness and unnecessary dramatics, he decided that it was in the interests of his whole family, his wife and Anne especially, that he would have to forgive his aunt for her trespasses against Elizabeth. He told her as much, and that was all that was needed for her to remove herself from under the counterpane, ring the bell for a servant and shoo him so that she could make herself presentable for dinner.


	3. Dinner

Though he would have liked to return to the carriage and be on his way to Pemberley, Mr Darcy huffed in frustration as his valet helped him into his dinner clothes. It was apparent that his aunt would demand at least an evening of his time before condescending to allow him to return to his darling expecting wife. In any case, it was too dark outside to begin travelling home.

"Thank you, Perkins," he murmured softly, attempting to retain the cool mask that betrayed the fury broiling beneath. If it weren't for his wife's demands, and his cousins' continued hardship, he would strangle his irritating aunt until she was begging him to renew their estrangement. He knew he must master himself, and continue the charade of friendliness at least until he left Rosings and regained some distance from the woman. He knew this would all be much simpler if Elizabeth were by his side, but schooled those thoughts into submission before they made his anger and longing rise any further. Thinking of his cousin, and his departure in the morning, he smoothed an errant curl and exhaled a rough breath. Allowing himself one more pensive glance at the looking glass, he returned below stairs and joined his cousin in the drawing room to await his aunt.

"I must thank you, Fitzwilliam," Anne began earnestly, "you cannot know how much of a relief it is to see my mother happy. I had begun to worry that her feigned illness may take root in seriousness."

"Think nothing of it," he replied, thinking that she should in fact think _everything_ of it, but having already resigned himself to his attempt at familial felicity he said nothing further. "I am only sorry that you are forced to endure her silliness so frequently. If you ever need an escape, and your health permits it," he added as an afterthought, "Elizabeth and I would be glad to welcome you to Pemberley."

Anne's countenance brightened at the prospect of such a glorious freedom, and Darcy was surprised to find her subtly beautiful. She was nothing compared to his wife, of course, but he had never considered his cousin as anything but a poor, sickly invalid before. Her illness abating in the absence of her mother, he found hr to be pleasantly charming. They would have to invite her to a ball in the near future, and become as scheming as dear Georgiana had been whilst trying to bring him and his wife together. Hopefully they would have the same success in ensuring Anne's happiness.

"Thank you Fitz, I would simply _love_ to. Even if I were set against the idea, I fear I am in your debt regardless. I appreciate what you have given up in order to come here and I am most grateful. I think mama may have something to say on the subject of my quitting Rosings for Pemberley, however." The last was said with wistful regret and he took pity on her.

"I am sure she would not be too opposed to the idea, were I to mention the possibility of a ball for yourself and Georgiana, with a myriad of eligible young gentlemen on the guestcard. After we so cruelly spurned her plans for out connubial felicity, it is the least we can do." He was so glad that they could talk lightly on the matter now. Previously, his aunt's desires to see them married had had the opposite effect to that which she had intended, and had instead made their encounters somewhat awkward. A soft pinkness graced his cheeks at the remembrance of it.

"I can only agree, and I can only express my gratitude once more. Seeing you at last so happy with Elizabeth has made me question my duties to myself as well as those I extend to my mother." She smiled sadly, and Darcy pressed her arm comfortingly as he ruminated on the happiness she talked of.

"I am most anxious for you to meet George," he said, only a hint of bitterness betraying his forced tranquility.

"How can I ever apologise for not having met him already? You cannot imagine how long I have wished for such a meeting to occur, but I could not simply steal away unaccompanied in the dead of night to come to you." The small, sad smile returned and Darcy's mein crumbled gently. He knew she wasn't at fault for her tardiness at meeting his son, but it upset him greatly that his family did not include George in their lives. He knew that the only way to remedy that was to rebuild the bridges his aunt had callously burned, but it was not going to be an easy task. She was so _infuriating_. How was such a woman to be worked upon? He was almost tempted to steal Anne away in the middle of that very night, but the last thing he desired was his wife's wrath, or indeed the scandal that would necessarily follow such actions.

"We can remedy that upon my return to Pemberley, if you desire," he said gently. "You are welcome to join us whenever you please."

"Perhaps leaving my mother so soon after her convalescence would not be wise," she returned, "but I shall impose upon your kindness as soon as is possible."

They smiled at their newly formed alliance as Lady Catherine de Bourg joined them in all her state, sharing a conspirational look behind her flouncing behind, before heading into the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was a relatively quiet affair, content as Darcy was to listen to his aunt fill the room with idle rambling about the awful toll that his behaviour had taken upon her usually robust constitution. He could scarce believe it, but she did not make a derogatory remark about his wife even once, until Anne tried to change the tack of her mother's monologue. He was grateful that she was trying to be less openly abrasive towards his choice of bride. Perhaps Elizabeth was correct, and his aunt's hatred of her was purely that she was not Anne, and not an actual remark upon her character. He was sceptical, but had let it lie.

"I hope you left Mrs Darcy well," Anne said softly, lifting the unspoken taboo. Lady Catherine's eyes widened in shock at hearing her daughter actively begin a conversation at dinner. It was fortunate that she remained so, for it prevented her usual vitriol towards Elizabeth and allowed for the conversation to continue unhindered. Anne began to feel brave at her mother's silenced reaction and continued. "And how does baby George fare?"

Upon this topic, Darcy was as far from the reticent young man he had once been at Netherfield as one could hope to coax him. His countenance fairly shone with memories of his small family and he enthused about his son and wife. Anne listened in rapt attention to the description of the happiness at Pemberley, and even Lady Catherine found her leathery features contorted into a smile at seeing at least some of her family so pleasantly situated. Repining the fact that Anne did not yet share the same felicity, she resolved nonetheless that maritial happiness suited her nephew exceedingly well. It emphasised his Fitzwilliam handsomeness and brought a lump to her throat as she was reminded of her departed sister. They had looked so alike when they smiled. Then, to the surprise of the small party, and the servants who were privy to the dinnertime conversation, she spoke to her nephew.

"Pray, has George begun to resemble his great Fitzwilliam ancestors as of yet?" She asked, in her softest tones. Darcy smiled wryly at her before replying. She was attempting some civility at least.

"He has his mother's liveliness, but he retains my mother's eyes," he said with a gentle nostalgia for his dear, departed mama. "And such a crown of blonde curls I have never seen but for atop the head of my sister." Anne's face fairly melted at the description of little George Darcy, and she entreated her mother to permit a visit to Pemberley in the near future. Lady Catherine was so shocked that her shy, poor Anne would request anything, that confused permission was soon granted. Darcy had not mentioned the potential of a ball, but he would talk to Elizabeth upon his return and her recovery about the prospect of a Spring Ball. It would be her second such event, and likely just as successful as the first, though perhaps with slightly more care taken over the timings.

The dinner passed more quietly than expected. To the pleasant surprise of all in attendance, Anne carried the majority of the discourse. Her mother sat for the large part in resigned silence and her cousin in impatient frustration. He was fairly buzzing with the need to return to his family. He could not bear the thought of not being present to welcome his second child into the world.


	4. Impasse

He slept fitfully, imagined scenes from a fictitious birthing room haunting his waking hours. Struggling to erase the terrifying image of his still, white, darling Elizabeth from his mind and resenting the coldness of his lonely four-poster, he decided to stroll to the balcony and take advantage of the fresh air.

He was reminded of a not dissimilar occasion soon after George was born, when he had gazed upon the same stars with their sleeping babe in his arms. Wondering if his wife was doing the same, he smiled at the memory as it calmed his racing pulse. The ordeal about which he was so worried had been terrifying, but the result of it had been his charming son, and he would not trade him for all of the gold within or without of Pemberley.

He sighed at the stars and felt a foreboding snowflake melt on the warm, hard skin above his eyebrow. He returned to attempt to sleep after sending a prayer skywards that the snow would not fall in earnest before he had reached the comfort of his Derbyshire home. He could not bear the thought of being stuck in Kent due to inclement weather when he could be enjoying his son's first response to the crisp whiteness, or his wife's glittering eyes as she held their second child. He needed to leave for home in the morning, there would not be snow. He forbade the sky from betraying him. Sighing softly, he returned to bed and his futile attempt to rest.

The morning arrived after many hours of discomfort and Fitzwilliam Darcy rushed to the window to determine whether his demands had been upheld. He was pleasantly surprised to find that the sky had indeed listened to his prayers. The gardens were dusted in a light frosting, but nothing so serious as to make travel impossible. He called for his valet with alacrity and was humming in anticipation as the man dressed him for the day.

He was envisaging the scene that awaited him upon his imminent return and a look of great contentment diffused across his cleanly shaven face. He pictured himself surprising his wife in the library with a gentle kiss upon the hollow beneath her ear. She would squirm and chuckle and all of the torment of this unnecessary separation would be forgotten. George would waddle towards him with unsteady step and his small fingers would clasp and unclasp impatiently as he was prevented entrance from his father's embrace whilst he was already occupied by his darling Lizzy. His heart ached for Pemberley and his small family and a slight faltering in his smile betrayed his malcontentment. Considering the miles between them, his countenance returned to the dark composure he had so oft donned in public.

His valet did not mention the fearsome curtness with which his master addressed him, for he was well aware of the delicate situation in which Mr Darcy found himself. The serving staff of the great estate recognized how attached the young couple were, and there was an unspoken wager whenever they were separated as to who would snap at an unfortunate servant first. Their equilibria were knocked off-balance whenever they were apart and each needed the kindest and quietest attentions in such situations as these.

...

Two hours and thirty six minutes later, he found himself standing on the gravel beside his carriage, saying the necessary - and more pleasant than anticipated - farewells to his extended family. He was relieved that he could once again address them as such. Anne promised to follow him to Pemberley as soon as was prudent and his aunt bade him a begrudging adieu, most put out as she was by his leaving so soon, and then he was embarking on the long journey back to Derbyshire.

He was quite unwilling to stop for any longer that was absolutely necessary. Hence, they paused at an inn for the necessary rest break to change the horses and then much later in the day, when darkness fell quickly, blanketing the frosty landscape in a rich black fog that made further travel dangerous. With a great huff of frustration, Fitzwilliam Darcy acquiesced to a night in an inn. It was in the best interests of his coachmen and the great man himself that they postpone their travelling until the morning.


	5. Confinement

Having safely avoided the danger of the perilous darkness, the Darcy carriage continued on its way along the snow-dusted tracks at the break of dawn the following day. Mr Darcy could feel the miles passing in the gentle rocking of the carriage and the heavy rolling of its wheels. The scenery transformed outside his window into the untamed greenness that he was so fond of. It was not until about eleven in the morning, when they had passed four hours on the road, that danger imposed its unwelcome presence anew.

Darcy judged from the fall of the landscape that they were not an hour's walk from his beloved home when the first gentle snowflakes melting upon his cheek alerted the head coachmen to the imminent deluge. Five minutes later, the party was forced to halt their progress, fortunately sufficiently near to the village of Leedale that they could at least find shelter. Darcy cursed the heavens for keeping him separate from his darling wife for even a second longer. His countenance was a furious storm of disgust and frustration at the weather as they arrived upon a small house on the outskirts of the village and they were bade entry by a matronly looking woman.

His fiery anger soon dissipated into worry, and the tension in his clenched fists was redirected into a repetitive bouncing of his knee. He was consumed with fear when he considered that she could be delivering, that she could have already delivered, their next darling child; that some misfortune may have befallen her during this ordeal; that she was alone, in the snowstorm; that she may have been taking some air when the storm had broken - for he well knew how much she loved to walk their grounds. If he were unable to reach her, so would be the midwife or the doctor should the quickening begin. The thought sent a fresh wave of panic through his skin, and he closed his eyes against the tears that were threatening to make an appearance. Aware that he was becoming unreasonable, and unable to act on any such worries, he tried to drive his poisonous thoughts away in searching the library where they were ensconced for a tome distracting enough to occupy his turbulent mind.

The coachmen had returned in-doors after seeing to it that the horses were well sheltered. The lady of the house, Mrs Haye, was generously hospitable with her tray of tea and sweets. He gratefully took a warm cup of fluid and groaned softly as the hot liquid made its way into his chilly muscles, but refused the food as his stomach was turning over his breakfast and making him feel queasy. He had not succeeded in banishing thoughts of his family from his mind, despite his constant efforts. His brow furrowed as he considered that it might be some time that he was prevented from seeing his dearest Elizabeth. And with such a consideration, his mind returned to his earlier worries and his knee reverted to its nervous tapping. The dusty book that he was holding remained unread as his mind wandered.

After an hour of his anxious waiting, the snow began to let up slightly, so that one could once again see the white landscape through the cold glass of the crooked window. He knew it would be unreasonable to ask his men to return to the carriage, which was adorned by a thick layer of snow. Though he desperately wished for them to return to their conveyance, for he would then return to Pemberley within the quarter hour, he could not risk driving the horses on the slippery terrain. He huffed in frustration, the deep creases in his face displaying his dark mood to those in the uncomfortable confines of the library.

He waited for a further half an hour before his frustration was too great to bear. Confident that there would not be another snowstorm, for all had been quiet for a substantial amount of time now, he bade his host farewell and pulled on all of their warmest clothes before stepping into the still, icy air. There were murmurings of protestations behind him, but no man could refuse the Master of Pemberley when he had decided so resolutely upon his path. His stony countenance brooked no opposition. Their worries were silenced with the slamming of the heavy wooden door and he started the long, bitterly cold walk to his home.


End file.
